Anywhere But Home
by Jinx2016
Summary: Three times John Watson has walked into 221B and wished that Sherlock was not there, but one time he prayed for his friend to come home. rated: T because i have no idea about the ratings. Sherlock's POV for Chapter 4 is now up on my page. it is called 'Home'. Enjoy guys!
1. Chapter 1

John Watson bolted up the stairs of his flat, ignoring the hello from Mrs. Hudson. He was too caught up with what state his flat was in. Usually he wouldn't care, but today of all days he did. His sister Harry was coming over to visit and the last thing he needed was for Sherlock to turn his sister into an experiment.

"Please be at a case," John pleaded, before opening the door. Relief tingled down his skin as he stared at the cluttered empty flat. There was no consulting detective playing the violin, thinking on the couch, or shooting holes in the wall. John still wasn't fully relaxed just yet though. John quickly checked Sherlock's room, but from the looks of it the room or the bed has not been touched for at least a week. John was just about to check the bathroom, in case there is a molding experiment in the sink when an explosion popped in the kitchen.

John dashed from Sherlock's room into the kitchen to see the microwave door blown open and Sherlock covered in blood, mush, and soot.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John yelped, covering his nose as the horrible smell from the burnt experiment threatened his nose. Sherlock coughed as the smoke from the microwave curled around him.

"Experiment, man's alibi depends on it…maybe one day," Sherlock coughed. John's eyes widened with fury. Just what John needed. His sister was coming over for lunch and the kitchen was plastered with who knows what!

"Sherlock, can't I leave the flat for ten seconds without you destroying it?!" John shouted, peaking in the smoking microwave. Mrs. Hudson was not going to be happy about this.

"John, don't be dramatic it's not like-"

"John, I'm here!" called a woman's voice from the bottom of the stares. John's eyes widened with panic. Too late, she was already here!

"Who's that?" Sherlock asked, noticing John's reaction to the voice. John frowned at him.

"Make a deduction! It's my sister, who had happened to want to come for lunch today," John informed the all-knowing detective. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and began walking from the kitchen.

"Well, it's about time I met you're dear sister," Sherlock stated, attempting to step out of the kitchen to the sitting room.

"Oh, no, you don't!" John shouted, holding a hand out to stop Sherlock from entering the living room. You stay hidden and clean up in here. I'll go distract my sister. John informed Sherlock. Sherlock frowned at John, but turned on his heals back to the blown up microwave. John sighed, rushing to the door to let his sister in, tossing anything that may make a regular human being sick in a bin on his way.

"Hello, John!" Harry chimed as John opened the door for his sister. She was wearing a red jumper and from the looks of the fresh cut hair strands still on her shoulders she had just gotten a haircut.

"Hi, Harry, I like what you've done to your hair," he pointed out. He would have never noticed if he hadn't learned deductive skills from Sherlock. Harry blushed; flattered that her brother had noticed her new cut.

"Thanks, may I come in?" she asked. John stepped aside, allowing his sister to step into the flat. Her eyes widened in maybe fear, worry, or amazement as she took in what John and Sherlock call their home…or the rats nest…depends what's crawling around in it some days. John guessed that it was probably the first two. "Well…this is…wow," Harry stuttered. Yep, must be the first one.

"Please excuse the mess, Sherlock's been…well, busy and doesn't like anyone messing with his stuff," John informed her. Harry's face brightened as John said Sherlock's name.

"Oh, that's alright…so when do I get to meet your boyfriend-"

"We are not a couple!" John interrupted her. Gosh! Why did everyone think they were? They were friends and that was it!

"Whatever you say, Johnny," Harry giggled, winking at him. John grumbled to himself, wondering why he puts up with this. That's when he noticed Harry walking toward the kitchen. Alarms blared in John's head as he realized that Sherlock was still hiding there covered in his experiment.

"Harry, why don't you go downstairs and asked Mrs. Hudson to bring us up some biscuits? I'll go make us some tea," John offered. Harry frowned suspiciously at her brother for a second, but then trotted back down the steps, calling for the sweet landlady. John let out a sigh and bolted into the kitchen. Sherlock was sitting in a chair, staring through a microscope, still covered in the remains of his last experiment from before. The microwave, the walls, and the floor, however were cleaned up. Well, at least he helped out this one time.

"Sherlock, go get cleaned up and dressed. Harry's with Mrs. Hudson," John ordered him. Sherlock frowned.

"Why are you hiding everything from you're sister? Surly she knows that I'm a detective?" Sherlock noted.

"Yeah, well, the last thing I need is for her to send me to the loony bin for hanging around with you and your maddening experiments!" John shouted. Sherlock smirked at him, getting up from his chair and heading to the sitting room.

"Where are you going?" John shouted.

"To meat Harriet," Sherlock informed him. John paled and grabbed Sherlock by the caller of his shirt.

"No way! You are covered in who knows what! Go put on some new clothes!" John shouted, shoving Sherlock to the bedroom.

"John…but…I-"

"Stop complaining and get dressed!" John shouted before tossing Sherlock into the room and tightly shutting the door. John then ran back into the kitchen, hiding Sherlock's beakers, severed fingers, and petri dishes. Once that was done he started making the tea. John slouched into a chair, exhausted from his frantic run to make sure his sister didn't get scared off by his flat mate.

"John, I have the biscuits!" Harry's voice called from the sitting room. John let out a tired sigh and marched into the room, carrying three cups of tea.

On entering John almost dropped the tray at the sight that lied on the couch. Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch with his hands folded under his chin, wearing nothing but a sheet. Harry stood wide eyed at the consulting detective on the couch.

"Harry…I...Please just let me explain…we-" Harry broke out into laughter, gaining both Sherlock and John's attention.

"Oh, John, if you two were busy I could have come later. You just had to say something," Harry stated. John paled and Sherlock rolled his eyes at Harry.

"We are not a couple!" The two shouted at her. Harry raised her hands in defense with a wicked smile on her face.

"Whatever you say, brother," Harry giggled, strolling to the bathroom to wash up for lunch. John took that moment as an opportunity and grabbed Sherlock by the neck. Sherlock stared at John, unshaken by John's actions.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?!" John screamed. Sherlock frowned at him, shrugging casually.

"I tried to tell you that all my clothes that have not been destroyed by experiments are at the cleaners until later tonight. You wouldn't listen," Sherlock sighed. John slumped onto the couch, kicking Sherlock to one side.

"Well, I guess it could be worse," John sighed. Sherlock nodded in agreement, stealing a biscuit and cup of tea from the tray that still sat on the coffee table John set it on.

"JOHN!" Harry screamed from the bathroom. John and Sherlock both glanced at the shut door with confusion. "There's a head in the tub!" Harry screamed. John slapped his hand against his forehead, realizing he never made it to the bathroom.

"Oops," Sherlock muttered, holding his breath as he watched John's paled face grow bright red.

"Why didn't someone die today?" John growled. Sherlock smiled at his friend and held his phone out for John to see and teased evilly,

"Actually someone did. Lestrade called, but I turned him down. I thought it would be a good night to stay home. Good thing I did or this little meeting would have been such a bore."


	2. Chapter 2

**John's hoping for some well needed rest when he returns to Baker Street, but when he finds he isn't alone he wishes that he was.**

* * *

John rushed up the stairs of his flat, carrying with him a small gem. On his walk home he found the beautiful sapphire sitting in a gutter of all places. Good thing there was a stick nearby for him to fish it out. He was planning to send it to the jewelers so they could find the owner of the lovely stone. He just needs to get to the phone since his had unluckily gone dead. Then he would be able to get some much needed rest since his aching head kept him up last night. Sherlock was doing an experiment with a whole container of fireworks, reassuring John that it was all for a good cause. He had told John that you never know when a man will get shot down by fireworks.

As he opens the door he is engulfed by angry screams. John stands frozen in the doorway as Mycroft shakes his fist at his younger brother, yelling at him like a madman. Sherlock had probably commented on Mycroft's dental health or weight again. He should know better than to tease the British Government by now, but siblings will be siblings. Sherlock shouted back at his older brother, not even noticing John standing in the doorway. John let out a sigh and stepped into the room. The Holmes brother's instantly grew silent as he returned, each yanking on their unbreakable masks. John hated it when they did that. They act like showing emotions is something to be ashamed of, but John never said so. There's probably some mouth dropping explanation about that in their unknown childhood and John was too afraid to ask about that of all things.

"Oh, please don't stop for my sake, please carry on. I love listening to a fight when I come home from work with an aching headache," John stated sarcastically. The Holmes brothers didn't register it as sarcasm in the slightest though and carried on with the fight. John shook his head and slumped into his chair, yanking out the sapphire he had found hours ago. He quickly stole Sherlock's magnify glass from the fireplace and looked over the blue rock carefully. He didn't know much about jewels, but on one of Sherlock's cases Sherlock had pointed out how to tell costume jewelry from real jewelry. John knew that it was safe to say that this lovely little rock was genuine. John got up, walking over to the phone to call the jewelers when Sherlock's hand snatched the blue stone from his fingers.

"Hey, what the hell are you-"

"Found it!" Sherlock shouted to his brother, holding up the gem. Mycroft's wild eyes grew calm by the sight of the lovely stone.

"Wonderful! John Watson, I am forever in your dept," Mycroft sighed, snatching the precious gem from his brother. John frowned at the two of them, unsure what was happening.

"I'm guessing this has to do with some case?" John asked, staring back at the glistening jewel that disappeared into Mycroft's jacket.

"If you want to call it that," Sherlock grumbled, slumping into his chair with his violin. Mycroft glared at his brother and then looked back at the old doctor, who was still waiting to hear the story.

"Yes, well, my supervisor came to me asking about a rare gem that had been missing from the palace for months. When I told him I hadn't found anything yet he almost strangled me and threatened my job if I didn't-"

"Holed up, you, the British Government got threatened because of some jewel?" John asked. Sherlock started snickering at his brother and Mycroft's face grew a light shade of red. John almost wanted to break down laughing too, but he didn't need to get on Mycroft bad side today.

"Anyway," Mycroft growled, attempting to carry on with his story. I came to Sherlock here for…assistance, but when he was chasing after the man who had stolen the priceless gem the thief tossed it into the gutter," Mycroft grumbled, glaring back at his little brother. Sherlock shrugged, not caring that his brother was stabbing him with angry eyes.

"You said get the thief so I got the thief," Sherlock sighed, ruffling his dark curls.

"I also said to retrieve the gem!" Mycroft shouted at him.

"Not my fault I couldn't hear you when your mouth was full. You seriously must get that sweet tooth of yours taken care of. Don't want to lose any more teeth do we?" Sherlock teased, glancing at his older brother with wicked eyes. John jumped back as Mycroft began to shout at his younger brother, calling him things John never thought would ever come from Mycroft's mouth. Sherlock seemed unfazed as Mycroft shouted into his face. In fact, Sherlock seemed to be enjoying his brother's rant. John, on the other hand was sure that his head was going to explode if Mycroft didn't stop shouting soon. "I wouldn't be the one calling me pompous if I were you, just look at yourself-"

"Shut it, Sherlock!" John shouted, but he was too late. The words had been heard and Mycroft was out for blood. The elder Holmes slammed his fist against the table, cracking it slightly. Sherlock muttered about how Mrs. Hudson was going to kill him for that, but he soon found himself dodging the deadly swing of Mycroft's umbrella. John jumped back, making his way to the doorway. There was no way he was staying around today. Not when Mycroft Holmes was on the loose. John didn't feel like going to the hospital for a blow to the head. It already was throbbing from last night's fireworks and the fight from only a few moments ago. John pushed the door open and flew down the stairs, bumping into sweet old Mrs. Hudson on the way.

"Something the matter, John?" she asked, smiling at him with concern. John let out a long tired sigh, flinching as he heard something shatter from upstairs. He turned back to the sweet little lady and pointed back up at the flat.

"Sherlock Holmes was home, that's what the problem is," John grumbled. Mrs. Hudson glanced up at the flat. Her eyes widened as something broke against the wall. Mrs. Hudson's sweet little smile flopped into an enraged frown that John had only seen during Black Friday sales. His eyes fallowed Mrs. Hudson as she disappeared into the room that was clearly being destroyed by the two Holmes brothers. John heard Mrs. Hudson shout at the two, but from the sound of crunching glass falling to the floor she was unsuccessful. John Watson realized there was only one last thing to be done. He had to hide out at Speedy's until the endless war was finished, which most likely was not going to be anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a cold winter morning and John felt horrible. His body screamed at him to take some medicine and collapse into his bed. He would too if Lestrade wasn't there with a case. Lestrade had walked in only a few seconds ago asking if Sherlock was around. John wanted to lie. He wanted to say Sherlock was out doing who knows what, but the very bored consulting detective sprung from his room as soon as he heard Greg's voice. Sherlock waited not one second and soon had John wrapped in his coat and into a cab, heading for the murder scene

* * *

The scene was in a flat on the edge of London. Yellow police tape decorated the outside of the flat. Lestrade lead John and Sherlock into the sitting room, where a woman lied dead against the tiled floor, blood spilling from her head. A large St. Bernard sat in the corner, trying to get some attention from Donavan. John noticed that the chain on the dog's neck had a name printed on it. Puff his name was. John looked around the dog hair infested flat. No doubt this was going to cause some problems for the forensics team. Why would someone have such a big dog in such a little flat?

"He's not hers," Sherlock muttered, answering the question that never had the chance to leave John's lips. "You can see clearly that there is an address on the tag, but it is not this address. No, she was taking care of the dog for a friend. She hates dogs according to how much attention he's pleading for from Donavan. If he wants attention from her of all people he must be desperate," Sherlock stated, glaring at Donavan.

"I don't see him cuddling up to you, Freak!" Donavan shouted, her eyes flaming with anger. John leaned himself against the wall. This was going to be a long case by the looks of it. Might as well make himself comfortable so he doesn't pass out. Lestrade quickly changed the subject back to the case.

"So, any ideas?" Lestrade asked, whipping out his note pad. Sherlock looked down at the body, noting the angle she fell and other things that no one would even attempt to notice. Sherlock turned back to Lestrade and John.

"Oh, I have more than ideas, Detective Inspector. I believe I've found the murderer," Sherlock stated. Everyone stared at him wide eyed.

"What…how? Who is it?" Lestrade stuttered, taken back by how quick Sherlock had solved the case. Sherlock smirked at him and twirled around back to the body, letting his big coat twirl around him.

"Look at the cut on her head; it's on her forehead so she wasn't attacked from behind. Plus the wound is cut strangely, like she was hit with a corner of something," Sherlock said, waving at the cut on the woman's head. John moved from his spot against the wall, striding over to his friend. He looked at the wound more closely, keeping the lunch in his stomach locked inside of him. He was really feeling ill, not from the body but from the odor of the dog scented room. It was really affecting his already sick body. At least Sherlock had solved this quick.

"So, then what was she hit with?" John asked Sherlock. The detective pointed at the corner of a table next to the body. Blood covered the right corner of the table, along with hair.

"She fell and hit the table," John realized. Sherlock frowned, shaking his head.

"No, she didn't fall. She had been pushed," Sherlock corrected.

"But by who?" Lestrade asked the detective. A smile curved over the Sherlock's face.

"He's right in this very room," Sherlock pointed out. Everyone turned to stare at the dog that was rubbing his head against Donavan's cheek.

"The dog?" John asked, confused that this lovable creature would do such a thing as push his babysitter into a table. Sherlock nodded and pointed at the carpet.

"The dog was clearly running, judging on the prints. He was chasing her because he most likely wanted her to play and knocked her into the table," Sherlock pointed out. John looked back at the puppy that licked Donavan in the face with his big tongue.

"Brilliant!" John gasped, mesmerized by his friend's deductive skills. Sherlock beamed at the compliment. "So what are we going to do with the dog?" John asked, dodging the big fluff ball as he ran excitedly around the room with a ball.

"How about you two put up with him until we get hold of the owner? Maybe he'll give you a sense of caring," Donavan teased Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes turned to the dog that was now approaching him and John with a rubber ball.

"Actually, that's not such a bad idea, Donavan. Not about the caring thing, but I've always wanted to test the accuracy of a St. Bernard's sense of smell," Sherlock beamed. John paled and searched for any hint of a joke from Sherlock, hoping that he was just kidding. It was all in vain though. Sherlock was dead serious. John watched as Donavan latched the leash for Puff on the red caller that rested around the big puppy's neck and handed it to John. John stared at the dog that was grinning at him, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. The smell of dog twisted his stomach even tighter. This was not going to be a good night for him at all. "Ready?" Sherlock asked, patting the dog on the head as he made his way to the door, holding it open for John and Puff. John nodded and let out an uneven sigh. Why couldn't Sherlock not be home when Lestrade came? The odds were really not in his favor at all today.

* * *

**i've started writing the last one for this today so i'll be posting it soon. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

John strolled down the street, whistling merrily. He had left Baker Street to visit his family a month ago and was glad to be finally home. He had missed the adventures he shared with Sherlock Holmes. He had often wondered what Sherlock was doing during the time John was gone. Sherlock had no new texts from his friend. Sherlock was most likely caught up in a case then. John smiled at the familiar door with 221B printed on them and marched inside. That's when he heard the crying. Someone was sobbing in his and Sherlock's flat. There was also someone talking in the room resting at the top of the stairs. Maybe Sherlock had a new client. John smiled with joy. He had missed running after Sherlock on one of his amazing adventure. Quickly he sprinted up the stairs and opened the door only to see Mrs. Hudson sitting on the couch with an orange shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders and tears running down her cheeks. Lestrade was sitting next to her, trying to calm the weeping landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, what's happened?" John asked, kneeling down to Mrs. Hudson's side. Mrs. Hudson looked up into John's eyes, sniffling as more tears threatened her eyes. Realizing Mrs. Hudson was too upset to speak John turned to Lestrade. The Inspector was silent. John sighed and looked around the room. "Where's Sherlock?" John asked, knowing that he might be able to calm the distressed landlady if he was around. Lestrade's face paled and Mrs. Hudson sobbed louder. John stared at Lestrade, worry sprouting in his stomach. Lestrade lowered his head, staying quiet momentarily until John asked the question again a little fiercer.

"He…he was on a case. He had been chasing after a…serial killer this morning, but lost him. He returned home but…but the killer had fallowed him. Mrs. Hudson and…Sherlock were attacked, but Sherlock managed to get them both out of the flat. He had Mrs. Hudson hide in an ally while he distracted the serial killer. Moments later gun shots were reported," Lestrade stated calmly. John's heart fell.

"Where is he?" John asked, his voice shook as he spoke. Lestrade shook his head.

"We can't find him," Lestrade stated. "We tried to locate him with his phone, but he must have it turned off." John shot to his feet dashing out of the flat. Lestrade fallowed close behind shouting, "where are you going?!"

"To find Sherlock and bring him home!" John shouted, fear rocketing through him.

They ran down the street Mrs. Hudson had said that Sherlock had run, shouting for him to answer them. It was all in vain. There was no word from Sherlock and it was starting to grow dark and colder out. John stared at the phone tracker that Lestrade had brought along.

"Please…turn on…help me find him…let me bring him home," John prayed. The screen remained blank. John sighed and turned to Lestrade who was on the phone with Donavan, asking her to get more men out searching.

BLEEP! John looked down at his hand to see the phone tracker blinking with life. Lestrade grew quiet as both of them stared at the blinking lights. According to the blinking light Sherlock was only a block away. John exchanged a look with Lestrade and the two of them ran in search for the missing consulting detective. There was another beep but this time it was from John's phone. John lifted his phone up to see a text from the very man they were searching for.

_New text message from S. Holmes: Srry_

* * *

"Turn here!" John yelled, coming to the ally Sherlock's phone lead them to. Lestrade and john dashed in to find a dark figure lying in the corner of the ally. The body was motionless and blood was pooling out from under the it.

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed, running to his friend's aid while Lestrade called for an ambulance. John hit his knees as he brushed the dark curls out of Sherlock's dangerously white face. Blood streamed from the corner of Sherlock's mouth. John's hands raced across Sherlock's ice cold body, checking for breathing or a pulse. Panic overwhelmed him as he found none of the above. Quickly John tore the bloody scarf from Sherlock's neck and pressed it against the gun wounds on Sherlock's body. There were three, but there was one that was the biggest problem. One had hit a major artery and Sherlock was bleeding out. Lestrade had joined him now.

"Oh, god," Lestrade gasped. John, ignoring the shaking of his own fingers handed Lestrade the scarf, directing him to put pressure on the wounds while he tried to get Sherlock's heart beating again. Lestrade obeyed and watched as John began performing CPR over and over again. Tears flowing freely from John's eyes splattered Sherlock's blank face. He was terrified. Sherlock was stone cold and breathless. What would he do if Sherlock never came home? The sirens of the ambulance blasted in the background, but that didn't calm the doctor. If Sherlock's heart wouldn't beat he'd be gone forever. John tried once more, forcing his hands harder against Sherlock's chest, popping a rib, but there was nothing. John's head fell on Sherlock's chest as he realized he couldn't save him. Nothing was working. His best friend was going to die. Tears drained from his eyes and even Lestrade was having trouble forcing them back.

"Quick, over there!" voices shouted. John looked up to see several paramedics racing toward them. John quickly told them about the injuries and watched as the men opened Sherlock's blood soaked coat. Sherlock's chest was completely red from the blood that spilled from the three bullet wounds. a paramedic yanked out his equipment and shouted to the others,

"Clear!" Sherlock's body jerked and the paramedic checked for a pulse. Nothing. They tried a second, but that didn't work either. John covered his face with his hands. He couldn't bear to watch.

"Please…Sherlock, don't die," John prayed.

"One more!" a paramedic called to the others. Once again Sherlock's body jerked and the paramedic checked Sherlock's pulse once more.

"I have a pulse!" the paramedic shouted. John's head leapt from his hands and stared at Sherlock's body. The paramedics yanked a mask over his face and strapped him to a stretcher. In moments Sherlock was in the ambulance on his way to the hospital.

* * *

It had been a grueling wait for everyone, but when the doctor told them Sherlock was alive it was all worth it. Sherlock lied against the white pillows of his bed, resting soundly. His hair was soaked in sweat from his endless fight to live. The paramedics almost lost him again in the ambulance, but they had managed to bring him back. Mycroft had gotten the hospital to allow everyone to stay with Sherlock as long as they wished. Thank god for Mycroft Holmes! Now Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and John were all huddled around the sleeping detective, who was still deathly pale. John stared at the message sent from Sherlock before he almost lost himself. The thought of Sherlock struggling to get John made his heart ache. Mrs. Hudson rested a hand gently on John's shoulder as she got up with the others. They were all going home to get some well needed rest. John refused to go home. He couldn't go to the flat and be home alone without his best friend. He hated himself for wishing that Sherlock wasn't at 221B all those times. He must have been mad. Now look! He got what he wanted. His best friend was fighting to stay alive! John felt tears start swelling in his eyes, but the cold touch of slender fingers against his hand caused them to halt along with the beat of John's heart. John looked down where Sherlock's hand was now resting on his.

"Sorry," Sherlock's hoarse voice whispered from behind the bed sheets. John pulled the blankets from Sherlock's face to find the detective smiling at him. Relief instantly slapped John. The tears fell freely as he saw the life back in Sherlock's stormy blue eyes.

"What for?" John asked gently, wiping his eyes. He glanced at the machines to make sure everything was working fine.

"For almost dying of course. Think of how dull your silly life would have been without me," Sherlock stated, smiling weakly.

"Yeah, well at least I'd have a nice peaceful life at home with no fireworks, fights with the government, no messed up lunches with siblings, and no giant dogs," John teased.

"You'd be bored to death in a matter of seconds, admit it," Sherlock stated, smiling more. John let out a sigh and nodded in agreement.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Don't you dare ever leave me alone at home like that again," John ordered. Sherlock lifted his hand up in a solute.

"Yes, Sir," Sherlock teased, laughing along with John.

* * *

**Well that't the end! What did you think? If i get reviews i will add a story about Sherlock's POV durring Chapter 4. it will be from the begining of the case to where he is recovering most likely. Thanks for reading!**


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